Misstep
by Predec2
Summary: Brian's attempt to help his partner produces unforeseen consequences. Main humor/fluff with a little hurt/comfort/angst mixed in.
1. One Small Step for Man

_Brian's Loft - 7 p.m._

Brian slid the loft door back on its hinges, and closed it behind him with a bone-weary sigh. He had left around six a.m. that morning to polish up the _King Transportation_ account before his team met with their representatives at Kinnetik, and fortunately it had turned out to be quite successful. But the fine tuning he had done to the campaign, along with the actual pitch meeting, and then a long lunch afterward had worn him out. Now, all he wanted to do was kick back with some Beam and his favorite blond on the sofa, watch some mindless entertainment, and then head off to bed and fuck Justin's brains out...that is, if he could even get it up. Right now, even THAT was debatable.

But as he turned around and caught sight of his partner's best asset presently displayed in a snug pair of beige khakis, he decided that would not be a problem. What DID concern him, however, was the sight of Justin standing on the second to the highest rung of a yellow, metal, eight-foot ladder, directly underneath one of the kitchen's hanging lights. Biting his lower lip in concentration, he was holding onto some sort of handled tool that Brian didn't recognize, while his other lightly grasped the side frame of the ladder. _Where the fuck did he get a ladder?_ Brian mused with a frown. He never recalled seeing one anywhere around before.

"What the fuck are you _doing?_ " He called over to Justin, who was focusing so intently on his task that he had not even noticed Brian's appearance, or even heard him arrive. Startled at the sound of Brian's voice, he briefly let go of the ladder, only to frantically reach to grab it again to remain upright. The peculiar contraption he had been grasping in his other hand (a cross between an apple picking tool and a Lacrosse stick, in Brian's opinion) made a rattling noise as Justin let go of it and it hit the hardwood floor, skittering on the ground a couple of times before landing nearby. Brian breathed a sigh of relief as Justin managed to right himself seconds before he would have taken what no doubt would have been a nasty tumble.

"BRIAN! Fuck! You scared the shit out of me!" his partner growled as he turned his head to peer over at him, his heart thumping furiously and an exasperated expression on his face. "What the hell?" He held tightly onto the ladder as Brian walked over to him.

"Only YOU could be so focused on something as mundane as replacing a lightbulb to not hear the loft door opening," his lover wryly observed as Justin glared back at him. Despite numerous efforts to lubricate the heavy, metal door to Brian's residence, for whatever reason nothing ever worked. He had even tried some of his expensive lubricant shit to silence it, but to no avail. It still sounded like a dungeon's door every time it was pulled open, making it virtually impossible to sneak up on anyone already inside. Anyone, except a certain blond, who - when in marathon painting mode - could tune out everyone and everything within a hundred yards of him.

Brian reached up to grasp Justin to support him. "Justin, come down from there before you fall," he urged him. He heard his lover scoff. _Stubborn little shit_.

"I'm not some little kid, Brian," he rebuffed him as he twisted his neck around to peer down at him.

"Then stop acting like one, and come down from there."

Justin rolled his eyes. "Aargh! You've been around Debbie too much! Well, at least stop groping my ass, and put your hands somewhere else! That is NOT helping!"

"Sorry, Sunshine. I was temporarily distracted from my rescue mission," he explained, his lips rolled together in amusement. He gave the perfectly rounded globes a familiar, loving squeeze through the material of Justin's pants before he placed his hands on both sides of his partner's waist until Justin descended to the ground. The blond turned around to face him, his hands on his hips. "There? Are you happy now?"

"Not quite...just one more thing..." he answered before he cupped both sides of Justin's face and pressed their lips together for a passionate, yet much too brief kiss. He felt Justin protest for just a second over his action before his lips parted and he melted into his embrace, sliding his hands around to Brian's waist to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. They broke apart somewhat breathlessly several seconds later. "Had to make sure your mouth was working properly...although I should have already figured that out based on your non-stop chatter," he explained with a smirk as Justin rolled his eyes at him.

"Chatter?" Brian grinned with a nod before Justin admitted, "Well...that was _almost_ worth falling off a ladder for." One side of his mouth quirked upward. "Would you have caught me if I had? Swept me up into those strong, brawny arms of yours, and carried me off to bed to make mad, passionate love to me?" His eyes twinkled as Brian huffed indignantly at him.

"No, I would have spanked your ass for getting up on the ladder in the first place."

Justin grinned as he let go of his lover and tapped his right index finger over his lips as if in deep thought. "Hmm...I could live with that," he decided, unable to keep smiling at the thought. "We haven't done that in a while." Just the thought make his cock stand up and take attention, but for now he had more crucial things to do. _Perhaps later..._

Brian harrumphed. "I am not some Fabio Harlequin hero with enormous pecs and flowing tresses in the wind from one of those cheesy romance novels, and you are certainly NOT a damsel in distress. It might have served you right if you _had_ fallen, though; that was very foolish, Sunshine, especially considering that you work with your hands for a living. I just use mine to fuck you with and jack you off." He couldn't help shuddering a little at the thought of Justin being hurt again, though.

Justin's solemnly responded, "Well, both are equally important." He paused. "So, how did the campaign go?"

Brian smirked. "It went fine, of course," he told him, as if it had been a sure thing. Well, he always liked to exude that attitude, but with the King account, he hadn't been 100% convinced, since it was a new client. But he wouldn't tell Justin that, or anyone else; he had a reputation to uphold.

He inhaled the scent of some bread baking in the oven, making him realize suddenly how little he had eaten at lunch, and how ravenous he was for food as well as something else. He glanced down at the weird-looking device lying nearby before asking, "Picking apples, Sunshine?"

Justin gave him a 'duh' look as his eyes drifted upward directly above them. "Ha, ha. See how bright Light #1 and Light #3 are, and how dark Light #2 is? When a lightbulb burns out, it doesn't light up anymore. Isn't that fascinating?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "I know that, asshole. But, No. 1, there are two more lights, and No. 2, there is no way you will ever be able to change that lightbulb yourself...short stuff."

He chuckled as Justin snorted back at him in indignation. "I think even YOU will agree that I am not 'short' by any means where it counts..." His eyes drifted down to the long-handled object lying on the floor a few feet away. "And that, Mr. Know-it-All, is a light bulb changer for hard-to-reach places. If you had ceilings with a _normal_ height, I wouldn't have had to go out and buy THAT. Do you think all the bulbs that burn out magically relight themselves?"

Brian shrugged. "I just thought Maria did it, or she called one of the maintenance guys," he replied as he peered upward to look at the center kitchen light that was no longer burning.

"Well, I've got news for you, Brian. Maria's afraid of heights...and the maintenance guys want to put those stupid electric-hogging incandescent bulbs back in, so whenever one goes out somewhere in the loft, I borrow the ladder from the maintenance closet out in the hall, and replace it with a fluorescent kind. Haven't you noticed how much brighter it is in the bathroom now? I just replaced one of those the other day."

"Not really...I just thought I was being blinded by your smile whenever I fucked you in the shower," he replied, tongue firmly planted in his cheek.

"Ha, ha. Well, I hate to contradict anything that even remotely sounds romantic, but it's not my iridescent smile. It's these." He reached over to pick up a spiral-shaped, fluorescent bulb lying on the counter. "And I was about to replace that burned out one before you scared the shit out of me."

"What will they think of next," Brian mused with a smile. "I never engage in such rudimentary labor," he announced. "But what's the emergency, Justin? It's only one bulb. I'll even make the ultimate sacrifice and change it for you...later." He looked over at the stove. "Aren't you cooking something? It could burn." He could see Justin's beat-up, well-used wok sitting on top of one of the stove's burners.

Justin placed his hands on his hips. "I was _about_ to cook my brown rice and broccoli chicken recipe that you like so much. But I need bright light to cook by, especially with a wok. The one that's burned out is right over the stove. And I'd like to change the other two to fluorescent ones, too, so it's brighter here in the kitchen and more energy efficient. Those other two are bound to burn out soon, anyway, since I'm assuming they were all put in at the same time, so why not just change them all at once?"

"My thrifty, little housewife," Brian declared melodramatically as Justin smacked him in the chest. He grinned before sighing in resignation, knowing he wasn't going to win this battle. "Let me get changed, and _I'll_ do it." Justin beamed as he narrowed his eyes at him. "If I didn't know better, I would think you had this planned all along, didn't you?"

His partner rolled his eyes at him. "Yeah, I knew you would be coming home at precisely 7 p.m., so I hurried and climbed up the ladder so you would take pity on little old me and do it instead. Never mind that I'm trying to prepare a home-cooked meal for you - one of your favorites - or that I had no idea exactly when you would be coming home. But if you would rather order takeout for the fourth time this week, I'll just turn off the burner and forget about all the chopped up vegetables I cut up, and the chicken I had to slice into small pieces."

"I said I would do it, Justin!" Brian responded just a little more curtly than he had intended. "Just let me get out of my suit, and into something more comfortable."

Justin smirked. "Well, make sure it involves clothes. That metal would be cold against bare skin. And don't even think about it," he warned, as Brian opened his mouth to speak. "I am NOT letting you fuck me against the rungs of a ladder." He shuddered at the thought of his dick trapped against the cold steel of the steps. "It's bad enough when you slam me up against one of the pillars and do it there."

Brian shrugged. "I just get these urges sometimes, Sunshine, after a long day of toiling at the office. I can't help it if you wiggle that ass at me so invitingly when I walk through the door." He chuckled as Justin huffed in response to his comment. "And besides, admit it, you think it's hot when I do it."

"No, Mr. Neanderthal. It' very, very, cold. I haven't seen YOUR dick plastered to one of those poles lately. Or, anywhere at all, for that matter. And I have no intention of having mine wedged between the two rungs of that ladder."

Brian grinned as he pulled on his tie and headed toward the bedroom. "Kinky. Okay, Master Chef. Give me five minutes, and you'll have more light in here than the entire grid of PA."

"I'll settle for having three bulbs replaced for now, thank you very much." Justin grinned as he turned back to the stove, confident that his alpha partner would get the situation rectified soon. After all, there WERE benefits to Brian being taller - in more ways than one.


	2. Patients Are Not a Virtue

_Justin soon learns that his partner is not very 'patient.'_

 _Ten Minutes Later - Brian's Corvette_

Despite the excruciating pain radiating from his wrist, Brian's eyes widened as Justin once more careened around a corner and accelerated to within a few feet of the car in front of them. "You're too close!" he gasped out in between rapid pants of breath. He was cradling his right arm with his left, rocking back and forth and hyperventilating from the pain, which was off the scale. He knew the moment he had hit the hardwood floor of the loft after replacing the last bulb, and missed a rung on the way down that he had broken his wrist. His hand was cocked backward, swollen to double its normal size, and looked more like a claw. And the pain! At that moment, he thought he would gladly go through chemo and radiation again, even several times, if he could replace that with the excruciating pain he was presently experiencing.

"No, I'm not; I'm watching it," Justin protested, gritting his teeth as Brian moaned softly in pain. He glanced over for just a second at his partner, who was in so much distress that he had tears in his eyes, and he was flooded with guilt. If he hadn't made such a big deal out of that damn lightbulb being burned out...

"Stop!"

Justin peered over quickly once more at his partner; he always did wear his heart on his sleeve, and Brian could read his expressions like a book. "But if I hadn't made such a big deal out of..."

"No, I mean STOP! You're about to hit that car in front of you! And it's a _minivan_." Brian said the last word distastefully, as if he was referring to a poor choice of steak, as Justin jammed the brakes on, causing Brian to lurch forward and briefly hit his head on the front window, even though he was snugly held in by his seatbelt; in this older car, there was no hand grip over his head. "Ow! Justin!" he gasped out his partner's name with a shaky breath. "Are you trying to crack my windshield, too? Or my fucking head?"

Justin rolled his eyes as he came to a stop behind the minivan, tapping his left foot impatiently as he waited for the light to change back to green. "If you had just let me call 9-1-1..."

"Are you kidding me?" Brian had to take a shallow breath to continue. "Who knows what type of germs are on those ambulance gurneys?" He moaned as another wave of pain hit him. "No, thank you. I'd rather risk you total...totaling my car."

Justin sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing; after all, they were almost at the hospital now. "You should have let me ice that," he gently chided his companion.

"With a fucking package of peas? I didn't even know I HAD a package of peas in the freezer!"

Justin quickly pressed down on the gas pedal as soon as the light turned green, relieved that the minivan full of kids that he had been forced to tail for at least a couple of miles was turning right. He barely gave the person enough time to leave the main road before he swerved around the rear of the vehicle and sped up toward the hospital's emergency room. "Do you think I miraculously make those homecooked meals appear with a magic wand?" he couldn't help pointing out. He shook his head in exasperation. "But, no! You couldn't stand the thought of using something so...domestic...to help alleviate your pain!"

"I was NOT going into a hospital with a fucking package of Jolly Green Giant peas around my hand!"

"Suit yourself," Justin retorted. He DID feel guilty, justifiably or not, about what had happened, but Brian could be the most stubborn person he knew. And tonight, he was the epitome of it. He heard Brian cry out once more as he hit a speed bump perhaps a bit too quickly in his haste to rush toward the emergency room doors as he pulled up to the sidewalk and pushed the gearshift into park. "Stay there," he commanded as he pointed a finger at his lover in warning.

Brian harrumphed - as if he had much of a choice - but he was in too much pain to object as Justin quickly slid out of the driver's seat, slammed the door, and rushed around to the passenger side to open it. "Let me unbuckle your seatbelt," he told Brian as he reached across him.

"I can do it. I have TWO hands, remember?"

Justin let out a heavy sigh. "Yes. Two hands, and one obstinate ego." Before Brian could argue, he reached over and unlatched the seatbelt. "Now stay there, and don't move. I'm going to go get a wheelchair."

"Oh, no you aren't!" Brian groused. "I am NOT a fucking invalid!"

"Maybe not, but your leg almost gave out on you twice in the elevator," Justin reminded him sternly. "Now STAY PUT!"

Brian pursed his lips together firmly, but to Justin's relief he did as he was told. His leg _had_ almost buckled twice before he could get to his car; he had hit his right leg in addition to his arm, but thankfully he hadn't fallen as a result. He closed his eyes briefly as another wave of pain lanced through his arm; when he opened them back up, Justin was standing there with a standard hospital wheelchair padded with a green, vinyl seat.

"Lovely," Brian muttered as Justin instructed him to wait while he applied the brakes to hold the apparatus in place. "What the fuck is that? Naugahyde?" he asked. "At least get me one with leather."

"Get in," Justin demanded tersely, as he gripped both handles of the wheelchair and watched carefully as Brian managed to use his good arm to swing himself up out of the car and stand up on shaky legs, groaning loudly as he practically fell into the seat.

"Shit!" he cursed as he hunched over and once more cradled his hand that was throbbing violently now.

"Hold on," Justin urged him as he used his foot to release the brakes on the wheelchair, and turned it around to head toward the emergency room. "I'll help you inside, and then go park the car."

"Oh, no you won't!" Brian exclaimed in horror. "Some asshole will steal it!"

"Oh, for..." Justin harrumphed. "Brian, don't be ridiculous! It's a hospital, not a mall parking lot!"

Brian placed his feet down firmly on the ground, refusing to place them in the foot rests. Justin could almost see him crossing his hands over his chest in defiance, too; at least in his mind. "I'm not going anywhere until you get back in my car, park it somewhere...and...promise to lock it." The more Brian spoke, the raspier his pain-laden voice became.

"You are the most..." Justin wasn't even sure he had the right words. This gave a whole new meaning to the words 'putting your foot down,' but it was still pure Brian. "Unbelievably stubborn person!" He sighed heavily, consumed with a mixture of guilt over him being the cause, at least indirectly, of Brian's predicament, and his exasperation over his lover's sense of priorities. "Okay, okay. But you're staying in the wheelchair until I do. Pick your feet up."

"Promise me first."

That earned Brian an eyeroll. Justin crossed the index and middle fingers of his left hand as he held it up like a Boy Scout taking a pledge. "I promise to take care of your baby, and lock it up. You keep being such a shitty patient, and I'll lock YOU up along with it!" Before Brian could protest, Justin barked out one word - "Feet!" - before grasping the handles of the wheelchair and pushing Brian over to a level area of the emergency room entrance near one of the brick pillars. "I'll be right back," he told him, as he engaged the wheel brakes, a mental picture of a runaway wheelchair flashing in his mind.

"Make sure you double park it, too!" Brian hoarsely called out in between painful breaths as Justin hurriedly walked back to the idling car.

"If he didn't have a broken wrist, I swear I'd break it for him," Justin muttered, shaking his head as he opened the driver's side door and put the car into gear to swing over to the nearby parking lot. He had to circle around twice before he finally found two spots together, and - feeling like a greedy thief - he parked the green, vintage vehicle square in the center of the dividing line, warily casting an eye around to make sure no one was observing his transgression. He quickly opened the door and made sure both were locked before rushing back over to his partner, whose breathing was ragged and shallow, clearly communicating the agony he was in. Justin bit his lip as the guilt once more consumed him before unlocking the wheels and rolling the chair toward the sliding glass doors of the ER entrance.

* * *

 _The Next Morning - Loft_

"Oh, this is just great," Brian moaned. "How the fuck do they expect me to change my clothes? Take a damn shower?Get my needs met?" Brian was sitting on the couch near the right end, his hand - now bandaged heavily with brown gauze like a mummy after having been examined and x-rayed the night before - lying on top of the couch's curled arm, two pillows piled under it to keep it elevated. The frozen package of peas that Justin had tried to use earlier was now resting triumphantly on top of Brian's forearm; he had been too exhausted and in too much pain to argue with Justin's choice of icing material.

"I can't type with this damn claw! You...you know how ridiculous I'm going to look trying to conduct pitch meetings? Maybe I'll get lucky, though, and we can snag Red Lobster."

Justin bit back a laugh - figuring his partner wouldn't appreciate that - as he walked over and handed Brian a couple of pain pills; he waited long enough for Brian to toss them in his mouth before giving him a bottle of water to swallow them down; he had quietly unscrewed the top for him before giving it to him, trying not to make a big deal out of it.

"Give me another one."

Justin shook his head. "No...it says only two in a six-hour period, Brian."

"Fuck the damn rules! It hurts like a damn motherfucker!"

Justin sat down beside him, thinking, _if only I hadn't been so adamant about needing that light changed_...But he wasn't about to add to his partner's problems by overdosing him, either, no matter _how_ much pain he was in. "Brian, the doctor said you can have ibuprofen with it, but no more than two Oxycodone every six hours. You heard him."

"Just give me the damn bottle, Justin!"

Justin lifted an eyebrow at him defiantly as he snatched it away from his grasp. He knew there was no possibility that Brian could use enough pressure to push down and twist the prescription bottle to open it anyway - but the stubborn man would probably die trying. "No way," he told him. "I got you into this mess, and I'm going to get you out of it. And what difference does it make if you can't change your clothes? You're not going into work. You heard the doctor. At least two weeks of rest after surgery tomorrow. NO working, which includes the computer."

Brian glared at him. "I DO have one good hand left, you know. I'll just type with that." Silently, though, with as much pain as he was in, he knew there was no way he would even _feel_ like typing; at least not for the foreseeable future.

Justin snorted. "You can try. But you're not exactly the fastest typist even with _two_ hands." He sighed; despite what the doctor had advised, he knew Brian was not going to be a model patient. "Remember, Brian: RICE. Rest, Ice..."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard the spiel, Sunshine. It figures anything involving you would be related to either food or art." His eyes lit up. "Now THAT'S an idea! You can draw me resting, icing, compressing, and elevating. How's that?"

"Sounds kinky," he dryly commented as Brian snorted at him, despite his ever-present discomfort. He had tried to sleep in their bed last night, but gave up after being unable to find a place to successfully elevate his injured arm. He finally had resorted to sleeping sitting up on the couch, using the armrest and some pillows to prop his arm up while resting his legs on the coffee table - with another pillow underneath them, so he didn't damage the surface. It was bad enough breaking his arm; the last thing he wanted was to compound it by marring one of his most treasured pieces of furniture. Needless to say, without the comfort of his bed - and, if he weren't too proud to admit it, the feel of his partner's body pressed up against his - it had not been a restful night. Nor did he think he would have that luxury for some time to come. _Come_. _Yeah, right._ He wasn't even going to think about that. Without his dominant hand working, he certainly didn't feel 'dominant;' at least, not in the sex department. And as astonishing as it might normally sound, at the moment sex was the last thing on his mind. Well, maybe not, he decided, as he glanced up longingly at the object of his desire, who was presently standing nearby. He bit back a groan - not from pain this time - as Justin bent over the coffee table to reset the pillow underneath his feet.

The blond turned around at the sound of Brian's voice. "Don't even think about it, Mister," he told him, instantly recognizing the difference in tone. "You couldn't even if you wanted to right now."

"I could on my side."

Justin chortled. "Even the greatest fucker in the world - and you would win, hands down, in more ways than one," he assured his lover, "can't fuck without using both hands to brace himself. I wouldn't want to take that chance, anyway."

His lover's mouth hung open in disappointment. He shook his head at his 'nurse's' demands. "Then ride me. _Your_ hands work just fine." Brian pointed out, waggling his brows.

Justin laughed then. "Always the creative one," he murmured. "Brian, even if we could have sex that way, there's no way I would even think about doing that. Not with your hand like it is, and you in so much pain." He paused, biting his lip. "I really am sorry for getting you into this mess. I should have just let the fucking light bulb go."

"What's done is done." Brian sighed. "Well, if you won't give me more of the good shit, and you won't ride me, then at least you can do something _else_ to keep my mind off the pain." He lifted both eyebrows expectantly as he shamelessly spread his long legs apart in clear invitation, his desire for his partner clearly broadcast by the stretching of the cotton fabric in his groin area.

Justin laughed at the little-boy like anticipation written on Brian's face. "I think that can be arranged," he told him, as he knelt down next to Brian and began to pull his loose-fitting sweatpants down to rest on his thighs. "By the way...your _mouth_ wasn't fractured when you fell." Brian huffed. "So, I expect you to put it to good use once I'm done with your not-so-little problem here. And I'm NOT talking about carrying on a lengthy conversation, either."

Brian's eyebrows rose as he shrugged. It wound up being more of a one-armed shrug, however, since his other arm was resting on the pillows. "I don't know. I'm in a lot of pain..."

"You keep it up, and you'll not only be in a world of pain, _Mr. Kinney_. But you'll also have balls so blue by the time your hand is healed, they'll look like giant jawbreakers."

Brian took one look at the defiant expression on his lover's face after his saucy comeback, and he couldn't help reluctantly chuckling, despite his pain. "Okay, you win, Sunshine." He winced. "And it's 'ball.' Just that lopsided image is enough to make me behave...for now. So how about taking care of my problem here, huh?" he reminded him. At least his cock had no problem responding. Thank God it had been unaffected, or he might go insane during his convalescence.

Justin smiled as he reached over to grab Brian's cock through the lightweight fabric, wrapping his fingers around it as he heard his partner sigh in satisfaction. "Okay," he told him, his blue eyes twinkling as he gazed thoughtfully into Brian's face as if he were considering the meaning of Life. His hands suddenly stilled, his face scrunching in thoughtfulness.

"What?"

"I was just wondering if your cum is going to taste different after they pump all that medicine into your system during surgery tomorrow. We should have asked the doctor about that during the consultation yesterday."

"No...WE should get busy and get me _off_!"

Justin laughed. "My, aren't we impatient?" he replied with a saucy grin as Brian scowled at him. His hand still gripping Brian's cock, but not moving, he mused, "I just wonder..."

Brian growled, "Well, _I_ don't!" He glanced down at his neglected cock; he had to admit - a bossy Justin was such a turn on sometimes. "Justin...fuck...put that smart-ass mouth to good use, will you?" he groaned in frustration.

A few seconds later, Brian's pain was temporarily forgotten as his sexy, blond, sassy 'nurse' finally got down to business and did just that.

* * *

 _The Next Day...Alleghany Hospital Ambulatory Center_

"Justin, I can't stand it anymore! Stop tapping your fingers on the table!" Daphne hissed in her friend's ear. She had been leafing through a well-worn copy of _People_ magazine, the _Price is Right_ flashing across the television screen directly across from them. "Go get some coffee. Go to the restroom. Draw some people here. I mean, have you seen some of these characters?" She sighed as Justin remained silent, biting his lip anxiously. She couldn't help feeling sorry for him, despite the constant drumming she had had to endure for the past hour. "I'm sure you'll be able to go back and see him soon."

"What if they don't let me back there?" he fretted. "I'm not related to him."

"You're the designated appointee on his Durable Power of Attorney; of course, they'll let you back there! You just need to be a little patient." Daphne grinned at her unintended joke as Justin scowled at her.

As if right on cue, a portly nurse wearing a pair of Disney scrubs a size too small and a weary expression on her face opened the door on the left of the waiting room and called out, "Justin Taylor? Is there a Mr. Taylor here?"

Justin popped up like a Jack in the Box as he replied, "That's me."

"Go," Daphne told him as Justin spared her a quick glance. He nodded briefly before rushing over to follow the nurse inside the surgery preparation rooms. "Thank God," she muttered. "We need your help."

Justin frowned. "My help? What do you mean? Is he okay?" He soon found out that he didn't have to worry or even ask which cubicle Brian was in. Even if the nurse hadn't been leading the way, he would have found Brian without any difficulty. All he had to do was listen.

"If I have to give you my fucking birthdate one more time, I swear..."

"It's hospital procedure, Mr. Kinney, to insure we're working on the right patient."

"You've been here, what? Three times in the last ten minutes? Has my appearance changed that much?"

Justin thought he heard a loud sigh before a man asked, "And we're working on which arm today?" Even Justin had to roll his eyes at that one as Brian replied sarcastically, "The one that's bandaged up! Did you come from an actual medical school, or some fucking online university college? And how many times do I have to repeat myself? I...need...my... _medicine_! This is an insane asylum! Where are my clothes?"

 _Oh, shit_ , Justin couldn't help thinking as he and the nurse rushed over to Brian's cubicle, currently closed off by a hanging privacy curtain. An exasperated looking man, wearing an RN badge on a lanyard, glanced over at the newcomers in a clear expression of relief. "You're Mr. Taylor, I hope?"

"Sunshine!"

Justin blushed as Brian practically yelled out his nickname. "Yes, I am," he told the man as he walked the few steps over to his partner's bedside. Brian was wearing a light blue, nondescript hospital gown and a scowl on his face. An IV was already hooked up to his left arm, and an oxygen finger cuff adorned his left index finger. An automated blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his upper left arm. Clearly, this particular patient was going nowhere.

Justin sat down next to his lover as he reached to brush the back of his hand against Brian's cheek. "Brian, you can't go anywhere hooked up to all these machines."

"Watch me!" To Justin's horror, Brian sat up more in bed and started to swing his legs to the side...only to have the male nurse grab them before he could move too far.

"Brian, for God's sake! Stay put!" Desperately, Justin gazed over at the male nurse. At least with his pudgy build and bear-like qualities, gay or straight even Brian wouldn't be thinking lascivious thoughts at the moment. But he was also strong. "Has he been given any kind of sedation yet?" he asked, thinking that was a dumb question, considering Brian's demeanor.

To his surprise, however, the male nurse nodded his head. "Just a couple of minutes ago, along with an antibiotic. It should take effect soon and calm him down. But in the meantime..."

Justin nodded in understanding. "I'll watch over him," he promised. He peered down sternly at his partner. "And you will be a model patient until you're out of surgery, you got that?" he demanded. His expression softened as he realized the true reason for his partner's surly behavior. Brian was nervous; afraid, even. One day when the two of them were conversing about how kids and broken bones seemed to go hand-in-hand (Gus had just suffered a broken finger during a baseball game at Little League), he had rattled off all the injuries he had sustained as a kid (broken elbow when he fell out of a tree, broken leg when he had jumped down from a fence; even having his tonsils taken out, along with his wisdom teeth). It was one of those rare occasions when he and Brian had had a heart-to-heart discussion about their childhoods, and while his partner had confessed to being worked over from time to time by his bastard of a father with his fist, somehow he had escaped ever having to undergo any surgery; at least at the hands of his father. The testicle surgery and subsequent radiation treatments, however, had been unpleasant to say the least. So, the great, typically nonplussed Brian Kinney was worried and anxious.

Both nurses gratefully accepted his offer, the male one assuring both of them that the medicine would take effect soon, and they would be wheeling Brian into the operating room shortly. As they left and closed the curtain behind them, allowing both men some much-needed privacy, Justin scooted his chair closer to his lover and caressed his cheek. "You are going to come through this just fine; just like you always do with everything," he assured him. "And you won't even know a thing while they're fixing your hand. You'll be in LaLa Land, sleeping like a baby. I'm a veteran of these kinds of things, remember?"

Brian looked over at him dubiously, even as he took solace from Justin's soothing voice and touch. He needed something familiar at the moment that he could hold onto, both literally and figuratively, as he reached out with his free hand to capture his partner's and twine their fingers together. "I fucking hate hospitals," Brian admitted, his previous barking tempered somewhat now by the medication starting to take effect; that, and the presence of his lover. Justin was the main reason why he detested hospitals in the first place. That, and the fact that his son had been a patient in the ER from time to time, as well as his own stay in the hospital.

Justin nodded with a half-smile as they lay their hands down on the bed between them. "I know you do," he told him. "I'm not so fond of them myself."

Brian gazed into the blue orbs as he responded, "No, I'm sure you're not," he murmured, becoming sleepy.

"But, hey, it's not been all bad," Justin pointed out. "Gus's birth was a good thing."

Brian nodded, a smile slightly gracing his lips as he became increasingly drowsy. "Yeah...that _was_ a good thing," he agreed as Justin nodded back at him.

He leaned down to give Brian a brief but tender kiss on the lips. "Uh, huh...a _really_ good thing. That night was also the night we met. And now look at us."

"Yeah...I'm wearing the latest fashion ensemble from _Scrubs-R-Us."_

Justin grinned as he revealed, "Actually, it's a _Dickies_ brand gown."

Brian snorted at the irony. "Well, whatever brand it is, this fucking 'gown' sure wouldn't cover YOUR ample ass, Sunshine," he commented.

"Hey! It's not THAT big!"

Brian smiled sleepily as he struggled to stay alert. "Oh, yeah, it is. But I _like_ big."

Justin laughed softly. "Yeah, we established that long ago." He noticed Brian's grip lightening up just a bit, and his eyes fluttering open and shut; no doubt, the medication was taking effect.

Just then, the curtain was pulled back and two nurses reentered, one of them the burly bear from before. "Time to head into the OR, Mr. Kinney," he told Brian. "If you'll head out to the waiting room, Sir, they'll buzz you when he's in Recovery."

Justin nodded, rising to stand...only to have Brian suddenly squeeze his hand.

"Hey, I'll be right here when you get back," Justin told him softly as he leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. "But no fucking any of the nurses or doctors in the meantime, okay?" he whispered in his ear. He regretfully let go of Brian's hand as he stood aside to allow the two men to release the brake on Brian's hospital bed and begin to wheel him out of the room.

"No promises," Justin heard his partner say despite his lethargic state as he grinned. He watched Brian and the two men head toward the double doors of the operating room, his smile fading somewhat to be replaced with worry, as he turned and walked back toward the waiting room.


	3. The Drill Sergeant Takes Over

Brian finds that his partner is not the pushover he was hoping he would be as he continues to recover.

* * *

 _Two Hours Later..._

Brian groggily opened his eyes to find himself sitting up in bed, his sense of hearing focusing on the sounds of a typical hospital environment: beeps, conversation, hissing from a blood pressure monitor, clicking of gurney wheels, and an occasional, muffled banging of a supply cabinet. Then he concentrated on trying to clear his foggy head, as he turned to see someone gripping his left hand in his. Even without a visual observation, he would have recognized that touch instantly.

Justin eyed him with relief. "How are you feeling?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

Brian frowned, disoriented as he contemplated his response; it was kind of the exact opposite of how he normally felt after taking some high-quality, recreational drug. Certainly not euphoric, with his senses heightened, and everything enhanced in a pleasurable way. Quite the opposite. He felt like he was in a twilight state between consciousness and catatonia. Not alertness, certainly, although he recognized where he was. He licked his chapped lips, turning his head to peer down at his injured hand, now heavily bandaged like it had been before. Only this time it seemed to weigh five times more than it normally did, and it was like looking at someone else's arm, because he couldn't feel anything at all from his shoulder downward. The doctor had explained that to reduce the amount of general anesthesia he would need, they would also be giving him a 'shoulder block,' which would deaden all the nerves in his right arm, and it would typically take 24 hours before the effects wore off. His gaze traveled downward as looked at his crotch in dismay. "They sewed my dick back on upside down! What the fuck?! Nurse!" he croaked out, straining his neck to search through the slit between the curtain and the wall to find some assistance.

"Shh..." Justin had to press his lips tightly together to keep from bursting out laughing. He knew people could say some wild things coming out of anesthesia, but this was downright hysterical. "Don't worry, Big Guy," he leaned in to tell his lover. "I can do all the work from now on, and you can just relax." He finally couldn't suppress his laughter as he noticed the look of absolute horror on Brian's face as he told him, "Brian, they didn't _touch_ your dick! It was your hand that you fractured! Your wrist, remember?"

Brian furrowed his brows, still not totally convinced. "Take a look," he managed to plead, his voice still raspy from his surgery.

"Oh, brother." Justin rolled his eyes before sighing in resignation. "Okay..." He peered around to make sure the curtain was shut before he lifted the hem of Brian's gown to make a pretense of fulfilling his urgent request. "Hmm...Yep...it's still there...and still heading in the right direction. Looks perfectly fine to me."

"You're not just saying that?" was the doubtful response.

Justin gave the subject a squeeze to validate his opinion. "No, Brian. I promise you. They only operated on your arm." As if reading his mind, he informed his lover, "They'll be giving you a sling to put your arm in until the feeling returns to it, and to keep it elevated. The numbness is just temporary."

Brian managed a smirk in response to Justin's explanation. "A sling, huh?" he murmured, just as a nurse slid back the curtain to check his vital signs displayed on the monitor beeping nearby. "Well, it'd better be high-quality leather."

Justin couldn't help blushing as he shook his head and smiled. "Sorry, no leather. And I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Kinney, but it's not that kind of sling. It's just for your arm." The female nurse glanced over to eye them surreptitiously - having no real idea what they were discussing - before she turned back to the computer. She had learned long ago never to question odd conversations between a patient and their loved ones, unless it involved their health. Besides, she also knew that when a patient was still coming out of the effects of anesthesia, they could say all sorts of things.

"Damn," Brian muttered, slowly becoming more and more alert. "Not what I wanted, Sunshine."

The nurse's eyes widened at the unexpected endearment. But she could tell immediately that these two definitely cared for each other as more than just casual friends. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked her patient. "Water? Soda?"

"No guava juice? Beam?" he mumbled as Justin chuckled, not entirely surprised by his exotic request.

"No, sorry; just apple or orange juice. Want one of those?"

"I feel so groggy still. Is that normal?"

The nurse smiled back at him indulgently. "Perfectly. Remember, you had two types of anesthesia administered to you, so that takes a little while longer to clear completely from your system. And, no...sorry, we only serve non-alcoholic beverages here...unless you'd like some rubbing alcohol," she bantered back at him. "Tell me what else you might drink - non-alcoholic, that is - and I'll get it for you. It will help your body rid itself of the anesthesia."

* * *

The nurse turned out to be right. Within fifteen minutes of sipping from a plastic cup of apple juice out of a bendy straw - the same type his son used, Brian realized to his embarrassment - the cloudiness was starting to clear away. He held the now-empty cup out toward Justin, who placed it on the portable hospital tray, before he began to swing his legs around in preparation to place them on the side of the bed - only to have Justin grab his upper leg.

"Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm blowing this joint. Their clothing choices are for shit at this shop." He peered down in disgust at his heavily bandaged arm and shuddered. "How do I even know I still HAVE a hand?" he grouched, his lips pressed together in disgust. "It could be just some stump left."

Justin sighed. "Brian, I'm sure your hand is still there. And even if you DO feel like you can get up and walk now, that would be a little hard with your IV still attached to your other arm," he pointed out.

Brian groaned as he fell back onto the bed in frustration. "Well, go get them, and make them take this thing out! There's not even one decent guy to fuck around here." He added quickly, "Present company excepted," as Justin rolled his eyes at him.

"Thanks," he wryly murmured. He pushed back from his plastic and metal chair, just as the curtain was pulled open and one of the nurses reappeared.

"Take this damn thing out of me," Brian grouched. He sighed in relief as - moments later - he was finally freed from his tether. He raised to sit up straighter in the bed, showing off several inches of bronzed skin to the admiring eyes of the female nurse, before she cleared her throat. "Uh...I'll let you get dressed, and then we'll go over your discharge instructions."

Brian leered at her, causing the nurse to blush profusely. "You can stay and watch if you want," he told her as he began to remove his gown, displaying a tantalizing glimpse of his shoulder, upper body and neck.

"Uh, no, no," she told him hastily, surprised at her own reaction. It wasn't like she didn't see half-dressed patients every day, and it was obvious the man batted for the 'other' team; the handholding and tender glances the two men had been sharing ever since the patient had come into Recovery made that quite obvious. But she had to admit, he certainly was attractive. "You go ahead; I'll be back in a few minutes."

* * *

"Brian," Justin scolded him as he reached for his partner's clothes that had been stuffed inside a large, clear, plastic bag. _Good thing they weren't his designer clothes_ , he couldn't help thinking, _or a certain someone would be having an even BIGGER queen out_.

Brian rolled his lips under like a contrite, little boy as he shrugged out of the loose-fitting hospital gown and managed, albeit somewhat clumsily, to twist around enough to sit on the side of the bed. "I hate this," he muttered, his right arm feeling like it weighed a ton as it rested inside a navy-blue sling that was wrapped around his neck.

"Hold still," Justin commanded as he reached for the short-sleeved shirt he had picked up for Brian to wear home; he had figured (correctly) that his bandaged hand wouldn't fit through anything in Brian's own wardrobe, so he had resorted to picking up a used one the other day at the local consignment shop on Liberty Avenue. It wasn't gaudy or nerdy-looking, especially; just a plain, navy-blue cotton, buttoned shirt. But to Brian, he knew anything less than tasteful, designer clothing - even casual wear - was horrendous to him. He soon discovered he was right when Brian wrinkled his nose in disgust at the sight, having worn a wifebeater to the hospital earlier before the actual surgery.

"Just where did you get _that_ monstrosity? Ted's closet? We're going to burn it when we get home," he demanded. "That's not from MY closet!"

"No problem," Justin told him in businesslike fashion as he concentrated on his task, lifting Brian's deadweight, bandaged arm out of the sling temporarily so he could slide it into the short sleeve of the garment. "We'll do that in your imaginary wood burning fireplace," he promised him as he replaced the arm back into the sling.

The patient scowled at him. "The garbage will do," he muttered, as Justin finished buttoning up the shirt. "At least leave the first couple of buttons undone!" he complained. "Are you trying to strangle me, too?"

"Don't tempt me," was the warning as Justin began to put Brian's briefs on him. He smirked as he peered up at his lover. "See? I told you they didn't sew it on upside down."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Justin chuckled as he finished up with the pants, sliding one leg in and then the other. "I'll explain later," he told him. "Stand up."

"Give me a blow job first."

"Nice try. You want out of here or not?"

"I don't know. Now that the anesthesia's wearing off, pull the curtain back and let me get a better look at the medical staff first."

Justin snorted as Brian gave him that " _I can get away with anything_ " sort of look and grinned at him. "We're leaving," Justin told him flatly. "And if you're a really, really, good patient, maybe I can fulfill that 'demand' when we get home. Now stand up. Your arm is broken, not your feet."

"So bossy! But oddly enough, it's kind of hot in a way."

"I'm glad you think so. Because I'm going to be your boss for at least for the next few weeks."

Brian harrumphed. "We'll see about that." He groaned as he felt the enormous weight of the bandaged arm being held cradled against his chest by the sling now back in place. "Fuck."

"Not for a while," Justin teased him as Brian bestowed him with a glare. They both glanced up as the curtain was pulled back again, and the nurse arrived with the discharge paperwork. "None too soon," Justin murmured, wondering if the worst was yet to come. Something told him that Brian was going to be anything but a model patient. He would soon find out just how correct he was in that assumption.

* * *

 _Two Days Later..._

"Will you stop fidgeting? You're making me nervous," Justin hissed under his breath.

" _You're_ nervous?" Brian retorted. "You're not the one about to be tortured. And don't say it's for my own good, either. Find you a good magazine to read to occupy yourself. I think I saw _Field and Stream_ over there," he added, cocking his head toward the far corner. "WAY over there."

Justin rolled his eyes as he squirmed in the not-so-comfortable waiting room chair at the Wellness Physical Therapy Center. It had been a couple of days - harrowing, sleepless nights, too - since Brian's surgery, and he had discovered that Brian hadn't changed much in personality since his cancer scare. Not that he was making light of that horrible time, but his lover's disposition as a patient hadn't changed. He was still stubborn, complaining, and disobeying when it came to following his discharge instructions. Justin had had to resort to locking up Brian's meds to keep him from ingesting them like candy, and had to constantly nag, uh... _remind_ him to keep his arm elevated and iced. The only reason why Brian complied with THAT was because of the discomfort he felt if he didn't do it. Justin had tried to sleep in their bed at night, but found that he couldn't because he was afraid that Brian - who had to sleep by the end of the couch, sitting up with his arm propped on the pillows and his legs resting on top of the coffee table - might need him in the middle of the night, and he felt that was the least he could do: suffer along with him. So he had resorted to sleeping on the couch beside him, scrunched up in a fetal position as he slept somewhat fitfully on his side at the other end.

The thought as to why Brian was in such pain made Justin pause as another flicker of guilt invaded his mind. But still, the man could be a bit more cooperative! He sighed again; a sound that did not go unnoticed by his partner sitting next to him.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop with the trip down Guilty Lane again," Brian told him in a firm voice. "It's done. Can't undo it. So no point in belaboring the fact." He cocked on eyebrow at Justin. "Agreed?"

Justin let out a deep breath before nodding. "Okay. Agreed."

Brian nodded as he glanced up at the clock. "What's taking the therapist so long? I wish she'd just get on with it," he grouched as he noticed it was ten minutes past his scheduled time. He smirked. "Sydney...I'd much rather be THERE than here. Soaking up some rays on a nice, warm beach." Sydney Keller was the name of his assigned hand therapist. He glanced over at Justin, who quickly covered up a look of distress on his face. Brian knew instantly which night he was thinking about. The bombing was the reason why he hadn't been able to travel to Sydney, Australia in the first place. But he really didn't regret going, because as much as he hated the reason WHY he couldn't go, it had finally provided the much-needed impetus for him to admit to Justin out loud that he did, indeed, love him. He knew in his heart, though, that Justin already had known that. But at last he had been able to verbalize it as well. "Hey," he murmured, as he reached over with his good hand to briefly squeeze his partner's. "One day we'll go together," he told him, earning a nod and a smile from the blond.

"Brian Kinney?" a deep voice called out unexpectedly then.

Both heads turned as they heard Brian's name mentioned; the patient's face widened into a broad smile, while Justin scowled. "Sydney" was not a female, but a tall, dark-haired, trim, muscular man who appeared to be in his late twenties. He was wearing a close-fitting, navy-blue tee shirt with the therapy center's logo emblazoned over his left chest, along with a pair of denim jeans and loafers. Piercing, green eyes made for a dramatic look on his angular, slightly scruffy face. Brian loved it. Justin hated it.

Brian stood up with amazing alacrity, considering he had just been complaining about how badly he felt, and that he had a healing, previously fractured right wrist. "That's me," he verified as "Sydney" nodded. He turned to grin down at Justin. "See you later, Sunshine. Duty calls." With a chuckle at the expression on Justin's face, he turned and began to walk toward the attractive therapist, who held out his hand to indicate where he needed to follow him.

" _See you later, Sunshine_ ," Justin parroted him as his eyes narrowed. He followed the pair's every move as the two of them walked over to a curved table, and the therapist indicated where Brian should sit. At least from where he sat Justin could observe them clearly. He groaned. Of course, Brian would wind up with a hottie of a therapist. Why couldn't it have been some middle-aged woman with a receding hairline and a protruding stomach? He watched intently as the man typed in some information into a computer situated on a rolling cart, and then hand Brian a piece of paper. A conversation ensued, and then Justin watched Brian signal with his good hand for him to walk over to him.

Approaching his partner's spot at the table, Brian explained, "I need a hand...literally," he told Justin with a grin. "I have to fill out this paperwork." He peered over at the therapist sitting a few feet away to explain, "This is my partner, Justin Taylor."

Sydney extended his hand. "Mr. Taylor," he stated politely as the two men shook hands.

"Mr. Keller," Justin returned the favor with a slight smile as he sat down next to Brian, and began to fill in the basic demographic information. The rest - about present pain levels and how his activities of daily living were affected - he needed to ask Brian which number to choose, from 1 - 10. After they were done, Justin handed the sheet back to the therapist, their eyes almost meeting in a silent challenge of wills as he remained practically rooted to his seat. Unless specifically asked, he had no intention of leaving where he was. It was evident to him that this Sydney was gay; he had seen it the moment the man had laid eyes on his partner after he had called out his name. So childish or not, he thought he might as well remain where he was. Unfortunately, however, that wasn't going to happen.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Taylor. You may return to the waiting area. Except for the initial visit, this area is reserved for patients only," he told him with what appeared to Justin to be a fake sense of regret. "But don't worry; Brian will be in good hands," he added with a smile; a _smug_ smile in Justin's opinion.

Brian grinned widely, thoroughly enjoying the repartee occurring between his clearly jealous boyfriend and this hunk of a therapist. Despite his discomfort - and his loyalty to his partner - he could get a lot of mileage out of this situation. "Rules are rules," he responded with a shrug. "Don't worry; I'm sure Sydney will take very good care of me."

Sydney beamed in triumph as Justin reluctantly slid back from the table and rose to stand. "Thirty minutes," he reminded Brian, although he was glaring at the therapist as he said it. "I'll be right over there," he added. _And in a chair with a clear sight of you and good, old Sydney. Emphasis on "old." Well, older than HIM, anyway._

The therapist nodded, promptly turning his attention back to Brian as he announced, "Okay. We're going to make a brace to protect your arm first." Justin stood there for a few seconds longer before - unable to come up with any plausible excuse as to why he was still rooted in place - he turned and headed back over to the waiting area about 25 feet away. True to his word, he chose the closest seat he could find that had a direct line of vision to the hand therapy table, deliberately picking up a magazine and beginning to thumb through it to appear he wasn't interested in his partner's therapy session. He glanced up so frequently from his magazine as the session progressed, however, that he didn't realize he was 'reading' from a threadbare copy of _Cosmopolitan._ The article on "New Sexual Positions to Drive a Woman Wild" was promptly forgotten as Justin's mouth opened wide in shock as he observed the hand therapist holding Brian's injured arm by the wrist, their elbows propped on the table, as he massaged Brian's hand with some sort of lotion using both of his own large hands, the newly-made brace lying next to him on the table.

"Oh, yeah, that feels really good," Brian practically purred as Justin rolled his eyes. It felt so much like so other sound Brian might make that it made his cock twitch at the thought. Groaning to himself, he lowered the magazine to rest on top of his thighs to hide his unexpected 'condition,' and turned his head to casually survey his surroundings, although there was really nothing interesting to see. In fact, at this early hour, only one other person was there, waiting to be seen by another therapist. He gave the older, slim woman a polite nod before stealing another glance toward the hand therapy table. Brian's hand was still propped up on the table with his elbow, but this time the therapist was using something that looked like a math protractor to apparently take measurements, as he watched Brian move his wrist in various ways, another tinge of guilt building up inside of him as he noticed Brian wincing with each move. It certainly wasn't pleasant _now_ ; that much was obvious. Finally, he watched as the man handed Brian a sheet of paper as he pushed back from his chair and stood up. Sydney walked around the table and placed his hand on Brian's shoulder to speak softly to him, making Brian nod, before at last the two departed ways; Sydney walking back over to a work station set up against the wall that held various supplies, while Brian headed toward him with a grimace.

"Hurt?" Justin asked, his previous jealousy forgotten instantly as he saw the look on Brian's face.

"Like a motherfucker," Brian muttered. "For a while, I thought it wasn't going to be so bad. Then I realized he was just placing me into a false sense of delusion before he came in for the kill." He shook his head as the two of them walked toward the exit and the glass door slid open. He glared at the piece of paper in his left hand. "He gave me fucking homework!"

Justin had to chuckle at that, which only made Brian even more disgusted at the thought. "Brian, you have to work your hand and exercise it, or it won't get better. It'll stiffen up."

"I thought you _liked_ stiff."

The two of them headed over to Brian's 'vette. That was also a source of contention between them. Justin was enjoying driving it immensely, but between being unable to drive for at least the next week or so, and Justin taking the wheel of his 'baby,' it made his situation all the worse. Brian sighed as he walked over to the passenger side, opened the door with his left hand, and slowly slid his long legs into the car to sit, his arm now encased in a hard, polyethylene brace that had holes for his fingers to poke through like some militarized version of a Wendy's drive-through glove. The brace was held in place by three, wide, beige Velcro straps.

"Beige?" Justin asked as he glanced down at the straps holding Brian's new brace in place. "That's so...bland."

Brian snorted. "Well, he asked me to 'pick my color' like I was some fucking kindergartner needing a crayon, and I sure as hell wasn't going to pick flamingo pink or Barney purple. Well, at least I'll have the most unique fashion accessory at the next White Party in Miami," he snickered in distaste as Justin started up the car. "What are you doing, Justin?" he asked as the blond turned to hover over him. "You're going down on me here? Kinky. But let me move my arm first."

Justin shook his head in exasperation. "I'm putting your seatbelt on you, Brian! YOU can't do it." He sat on his partner's lap to allow himself room to pull the seatbelt across Brian's chest and snap it into place, his eyes meeting the hazel ones peering back at him intently. He KNEW that 'look,' inherent in the way his lover's eyes darkened and his pupils enlarged. _Well, at least he didn't look insulted,_ Justin mused. "There...all safe and buckled up now," he told him, patting him on the head dutifully as Brian promptly smacked him on the chest. He laughed then, causing Brian to eventually half-smile ruefully back at him. Justin couldn't help taking advantage of the situation then to lean in and give his partner a kiss, placing his hands on Brian's shoulders to brace himself. He felt Brian slide his good hand around his waist as they deepened the kiss, hearing Brian moan softly in pleasure, before he pulled back, their lips separating with a smacking sound that reverberated in the snug confines of the sportscar. "That's for being such a good patient," he told Brian, both breathing heavily from their bout of tongue dueling.

"Well, you can unbuckle something _else_ now," Brian suggested, his voice raspy from their exertion, but his meaning crystal clear. "Here, I'll even get you started," he offered as he reached down with the intention of undoing the lone button on his jeans with his left hand. Unfortunately, he found it more difficult to do than he thought it would be as he found himself fumbling to do what should have been a simple task. "Shit!" he growled. Only when Justin reached to grasp his hand, and place his on top, did he stop to peer up at his lover. "I fucking _hate_ this!"

"I know," Justin acknowledged softly, swallowing hard to avoid the guilt that was ever present just beneath the surface. "But it's only temporary."

"Yeah...just like when I couldn't get it up after the cancer," Brian muttered, letting out a heavy sigh.

"And it WAS temporary...wasn't it? And at least it doesn't involve _that_ body part," Justin reminded him as his fingers stroked the hand beneath his. "And this will be, too. Brian...let me help you. And I don't mean just with this. God knows you've been there enough times for me! So let go of your stubborn pride, and let me help you until your hand is healed...okay? And I don't mean just with _this_ ," he emphasized, as he used his and Brian's hand to squeeze the hardening flesh beneath the denim fabric. "I mean with anything you need. I am at your... complete disposal."

Brian's eyes twinkled as one side of his mouth crooked upward. "My complete disposal, huh? _Anything_ I need?"

Justin nodded. "Mm, hum," he verified. He leaned in once more to kiss Brian gingerly, careful not to press himself against his arm. He grinned as Brian obligingly lifted his right arm to rest, brace and all, on top of the car's passenger door to keep it out of the way.

"Something in particular you need right now?" Justin asked innocently, his eyes wide and expressive. He didn't really need an answer, though; it was evident in Brian's face - and the way his lust-filled eyes bored into his - exactly what he 'needed.' "Maybe I can temporarily help take your mind off your injury." He paused, his hand resting on top of Brian's, where they still lay on top of his partner's crotch. His eyes widened in realization. "I know! You must be hungry, since you didn't have any breakfast. We could stop on the way back home and pick something up."

He laughed as Brian's eyes flared with indignation. "I'm hungry, all right. But not for a fucking croissant!" Any further complaints died on his lips as Justin pulled his hand away from his body, unbuckled his seatbelt, and hurriedly undid the lone button of his jeans, pulling the zipper down to snake his hand inside his briefs. He moaned as a familiar, warm hand wrapped itself around his burgeoning cock. Even now - even after what must be hundreds, if not thousands of times - it never got old. Justin's _touch_ never made him any less desirable. He sighed in pleasure as Justin began to squeeze and stroke his cock, his thumb flicking over the wet tip. "Ahh..." he replied appreciatively. "Not THAT's pain relief." He closed his eyes, relishing the expert touch of his lover. _Yes, this was the best therapy of all._

Justin smiled as Brian arched his neck and tilted his head back, his eyes closed in bliss, as he continued to stroke him. Normally he would have sucked him off, but the parking lot was a bit too public to do that. Although, there was a certain excitement in that notion, he considered, as he pulled Brian's cock away from his briefs, and - with a quick look around to notice no one watching - promptly leaned down and latched his lips onto his partner's cock, hearing a sharp intake of breath from above as Brian's left hand came to rest on top of his head while he suckled the warm flesh, his tongue generously licking the shaft and then tickling the tip before he deep throated him, his lips humming to heighten his lover's pleasure.

"Oh, fuck!" Brian cried out as Justin masterfully worked his magic on his dick. His discomfort with his right hand - which lay propped on the side of the car's window - was totally forgotten as he concentrated on the intense pleasure washing over him. "Oh, yeah," he murmured as he felt himself tensing up with the signs of his impending orgasm. Less than a minute later, he arched his lower body upward to try and fuck Justin's mouth even deeper as he cried out his release and spilled his seed. Breathing heavily and sweating, he slowly opened his eyes to observe Justin licking his lips and placing his now flaccid dick back inside his briefs before he zipped his jeans back up and buckled his seatbelt again as if nothing unusual had happened.

"Let's see if Sydney can beat THAT," he murmured smugly as he carefully dislodged himself from Brian's lap and plopped his body back into the driver's seat.

Brian struggled to get his breathing back to normal before he replied, "Well, if I break my dick, I'll let you be the one to do therapy on it. But that Sydney sure knows how to work with his hands." He snickered when Justin glared back at him, affronted. "Are we leaving or not... _Sunshine_?" he asked nonchalantly, his partner's expression at the moment anything but 'sparkly,' however. He was thrown back into his seat as Justin jammed the car into gear, placed his foot on the accelerator, and lurched out of their parking spot with a roar of the powerful engine. "Hey! Injured man here!" he bellowed. "And watch what you're doing with my fucking car!"

"Oh, sorry...I forgot, Your Studliness," Justin remarked with a smirk, having learned well from the master of sarcasm. He knew with Brian's brace, and the way he was pressing it against his chest, that it wouldn't do his arm any damage. But for some reason, it made HIM feel better. He _did_ slow down afterward, then, however, as Brian sighed and leaned back in his seat. "I'm feeling a little more _sunshiny_ now," he reported as Brian rolled his eyes at him.

Fortunately for Brian, his lover decided to drive a little more carefully after that. Just before his pain medication took effect, and he fell asleep from his workout with the hand therapist, he admitted, "Your pain management was better." Justin grinned as he headed back toward the loft.


	4. Brace Yourself!

_Justin tries a new tactic to pacify his surly patient._

* * *

 _That Evening...Loft_

"Can you huff any louder, Big, Bad Wolf?" Justin folded his arms over his chest. "And your put-out expression isn't going to make me change my mind. No food...no meds."

"I fucking hate you."

"Thanks. Now eat your tomato soup and grilled cheese. And then I'll give you your Vicodin."

Brian wrinkled his nose at the tray in front of him. "Where did you even GET this tv tray? I don't own any of these. This is the most butt-ugly thing I've ever seen." It was some sort of fake-looking wood veneer, with metal crisscross legs.

"That'd better be about the tray, and not my cooking. Eat." Justin peered unflinchingly into his lover's eyes, until Brian at last grudgingly picked up the spoon with his left hand, finding it unsteady just a bit. He wasn't comfortable using his less dominant hand to eat with, but he would be damned if Justin was going to feed him any more soup. His pride had suffered enough with the chicken soup tussle, although at least back then he could feed himself. "Don't even think about it," he warned Justin as he noticed him taking a step toward him, his intention crystal clear. "I'm not some fucking baby; I can feed myself, thank you very much. We're just not all as ambidextrous as _you_ are."

Rolling his eyes, Justin sat down next to him on the couch, two Vicodin tablets secured in his pants pocket. The rest of the medication was hidden in a place Brian wouldn't dare touch: his package of Oreo cookies, where he had neatly tucked it back inside the last row of plastic - after, that is, he had eaten the cookies that they had replaced. He had to create room _someh_ ow, and there wasn't any reason in seeing the food go to waste.

Brian shook his head. "What in the hell happened to your legendary culinary skills? Did the market have a sale on cans of tomato soup? And that is not cheese. It's some hyped up form of white putty. I am NOT eating this shit! How could you possibly think I would eat this? Are you fucking kidding me?! And why do you keep looking at your phone? If you have someplace better to go, Sunshine, by all means don't let ME keep you! I can get along just peachy."

Justin snorted; he knew better, and so did Brian. "If you must know, we're expecting a guest. And that 'putty,' as you call it, is Brie. That's why it's not yellow like American cheese. But I can assure you that the most discerning of your mice running around the loft would love to get their hands on it."

"I don't HAVE mice in this loft!" Brian growled. Justin's words before sunk in as Brian peered at him in disbelief. "A WHAT?! A guest? Are you out of your blond, little mind? Do I look like I want a guest?"

"It would serve you right if he didn't show up, the way _you're_ behaving," Justin retorted, glancing down once more at his phone as _finally_ he received the text message he'd been waiting for. "He's here. I'll be right back." He pointed his finger at Brian. "Don't you move from that couch! And eat your fucking soup!"

"What is it about you and eating soup? And I don't WANT company! I want my fucking MEDS!" he yelled out to him.

"Well, you'll GET your 'fucking meds' AFTER you eat!" Justin barked at him like a drill sergeant, promptly turning around and stomping over to the door, swinging it back much harder than need be before leaving it partially open, the thud of his shoes sounding as he scrambled briskly down the stairs. Brian thought briefly of trying to make a run for it while he could - or at least, trying to find the pain pills that his partner has so meticulously hidden before their 'guest' arrived. _Maybe it's an expensive rent boy to take my mind off things_ , he thought with a smirk. But, no, he knew it wouldn't be that. Justin could more than take care of him in THAT department. He stared down in distaste at the food Justin had left for him - he didn't know if the food or the tray it was placed upon was worse.

He heard the rapid pounding of feet a few minutes later heading back up the steps, one set of feet hurrying faster than the other. As he twisted his head to peer over at the partially opened door, a slight figure easily slipped through the entrance, and all his pain, discomfort, and his nasty disposition immediately disappeared as a smile broke out on his face.

"Daddy!" Gus screeched in delight as he rushed over to his father. He was about to launch himself full speed into his father's lap when he noticed the brace encasing his right hand. Pulling up short of his father, his face contorted into a concerned, studious expression as he asked, "Daddy! You got a boo boo?"

Brian couldn't help smiling at the worry etched on his child's face. He reached out with his left hand to grab Gus's smaller one to encourage him to sit down next to him as he nodded. "Yeah, your daddy had an accident. But I'll be just fine soon; don't worry." He peered up at Justin as his lover walked around and sat on the other side of Gus, Brian's face conveying his gratitude over his partner's thoughtfulness as he turned his attention back to his child.

"What happened, Daddy? Does it hurt?"

 _Yeah, it hurts like crazy,_ Brian wanted to confirm. But he didn't want to worry his son. "Some," he admitted after a pause. "I fell off a ladder and onto the hard floor in the kitchen, so that hurt pretty bad when it happened. But it's better now...and they gave me a brace to keep it safe until it's all healed up and good as new."

Gus nodded thoughtfully as looked at it. "Can I touch it?" he asked, mesmerized by how it neatly wrapped itself around his father's hand. "Is that a sock under it?"

Brian grinned over his son's perceptiveness. He suspected that was exactly what it was...but the therapist would call it something else, no doubt, to justify the outrageous price they must be charging his insurance company for the 'privilege' of wearing it. "It looks like one," he admitted. "But it's to protect my arm from rubbing up against the brace while it's healing." He reached to pull at the large, Velcro straps - three in total - to show his son how he worked. "See? I can take it on and off when I shower, and get dressed."

Gus's eyes sparkled with curiosity and fascination. "Neat! Can I see it?" he asked as Brian handed it to him with a nod. "My friend Billy at school broke his leg," he informed his father. "And everyone in class got to draw something on it. Can I draw on yours?"

Justin smiled in amusement; he could almost hear the inward groan taking place inside Brian's head. But he also knew Brian could never deny his child anything, so even if he DID wind up looking like a fashion disaster (in _his_ mind, anyway), he knew what Brian's answer would be before he even uttered it. "Sure, Sonny Boy," he replied, affectionately ruffling his hair as Gus beamed in delight. "But I'm not sure I have anything that will work on my..."

"I do!" Justin chirped up as Gus clapped, and Brian mouthed an ' _I'm gonna get you for that, traitor'_ at his lover, who grinned back at him.

* * *

 _Twenty Minutes Later..._

Brian eyed his lover's latest piece of art with mixed emotions as he peered down at his brace; it looked NOTHING like it had before. Now it looked like a psychedelic rainbow had thrown up on it. Justin - with his own son's urging - had proceeded to create (in Justin's words, not his) a "masterpiece" tribute to Yellow Submarine as Gus watched in avid delight over his shoulder. Afterward, Gus had written his name, along with " _I Love Daddy,_ " using a big, fat, gold Sharpie that Justin had somehow procured seemingly out of the blue, along with several other colored markers.

"That's so great, Justin!" he told his co-conspirator. "Daddy, no one will have a brace that looks like yours!"

Brian tried to keep his expression neutral as he replied, "Yeah...it'll go great with all my suits, and we can use it as a nightlight, too, when Justin and I go to bed. No more orange lights for US!" he declared, wondering if it actually _would_ glow in the dark. He wouldn't have put it past the little shit to have used fluorescent markers. "Good thing it's removable," he muttered under his breath. It could have been worse; he could be wearing one of those plaster casts that couldn't be taken off.

"What, Daddy?" Gus asked, his big doe eyes peering over at him.

Brian cleared his throat as he looked into his son's innocent eyes. "I said... I'm... moved."

Gus frowned. "You didn't move. You're still where you were before."

Justin chuckled, lifting his eyebrows questioningly at Brian, obviously indicating he could extricate himself out of that situation on his own. But Brian could tell he was enjoying his predicament immensely.

"I mean...I'm happy that you and Justin decided to make my brace look so...unique. I'm sure my therapist will be quite intrigued by it." He should feel totally mortified at the thought of walking into the therapy center wearing it. Gus was right. He will certainly be the center of attention (which wasn't new to him, but for different reasons). But what the hell? It was created with love - with perhaps a large pinch of mischief thrown in along with it - by his partner and his son, and it was definitely one of a kind. And as he recalled before, he could always remove the damn thing. And if anyone at his office had the nerve to so much as snicker at him, they could take a trip to HR to collect their unemployment papers. But he knew that one look at his stern expression, and any teasing thoughts would instantly disappear. He took a deep breath before stating, "I'll wear it proudly, Buddy. I'll have the only one like it anywhere in the world."

Gus nodded brightly. "And that makes it very special, doesn't it?"

Brian smiled; a genuine one. "Yeah...it does," he told him softly before gazing over at Justin, who blushed. "It certainly makes it interesting, having an artist in the family. Very handy, too."

"And Justin _is_ family, right, Daddy?" His small hands reached up to pull Justin's head closer to him so he could kiss him on the cheek. "I love you, Justin," he murmured sincerely as Justin's faced warmed in surprised delight, smiling back at him in pleasure. "Thank you for the neat picture!"

"You're welcome. And I love you, too, Gus. Always," he whispered back to him as the two of them shared a hug. As they broke apart, Gus asked his father, "Aren't you going to kiss Justin on the cheek, and tell him that you love him, too?"

"Uh...Well..." It wasn't common for Brian to find himself stammering, but his son had a way of doing that to him. "Yeah...sure...I'll _kiss him on BOTH cheeks_ later." _And on other body parts as well_ , he thought silently, knowing that Justin knew exactly which cheeks he was referring to as his partner's face turned even redder.

Gus nodded in satisfaction. "And don't forget the 'I love you' part, too," he reminded him pointedly.

Brian cleared his throat. "No...no, I won't forget," he promised him, making Justin wonder if he was just humoring his son, or really meant it. It was rare for him to utter the words even now. But Justin treasured each time that he did. He didn't have to hear them. But nonetheless he cherished each time that Brian verbally expressed his feelings for him.

Thankfully, Gus seemed to like that answer as he beamed; Brian couldn't help smiling back at him tenderly as his heart warmed at the look of adoration in his son's eyes. He groaned and his breath caught in his throat a few seconds later, though, as he shifted in his seat, unintentionally causing him to jostle his still-healing arm. "Fuck," he hissed. "Sorry, Sonny Boy," he told his child, knowing he had made a pact with the Munchers to cut down on the cuss words.

"It's okay, Daddy," Gus assured him with a nod of his head. "I won't tell Mommy and Mama." He reached out to gently lay his little fingers on the hard surface of the brace. "Does it hurt real bad?"

"Some," Brian admitted, squeezing his eyes tightly shut for a brief moment before the pain subsided a bit. "But it'll be okay," he assured him, noticing the worried look on his son's face.

"Do you need some more peas? Maybe the corn would be better. The bag is bigger."

Brian snorted in response to Justin's innocent-sounding question, while Gus gazed over at his father with a puzzled expression. Wasn't his father already eating something?

"Justin was using a bag of peas from the freezer to help keep my hand from swelling after I fell when he was taking me to the emergency room," he explained. "He was using it because we didn't have an ice pack. But Daddy has a _real_ one now," he told Gus. "Would you go get it for me? It's long and blue, and it's in the freezer on the middle shelf." Gus nodded - eager to help his father - as he practically jumped off the couch and scampered over to the freezer section of the refrigerator to retrieve the needed item. "Thanks a lot, Sunshine," he muttered to his lover while Gus was in the kitchen. "Now every time I have a headache, he'll be running to the freezer to grab the niblets."

Justin giggled. "Well, if it helps, you can grab MY niblets any time you want."

Brian leered at him. "Count on it, little boy. You're enjoying my condition way too much, and you'll pay for it, trust me."

Justin merely bestowed a blinding smile on him, clearly not dreading his punishment to come.

* * *

Later that evening, Justin - at Brian's insistence - had wound up accompanying Gus to their king-sized bed, reading him one of his favorite stories from a supply of books they kept in one of their dresser drawers for Gus's visits. A few hours later, after Gus had gone to sleep, Justin had awakened - accustomed to checking up on Brian during the night to make sure he was as comfortable as he could be, or needed any more pain meds - and found himself lying in an empty bed. Frowning, he shuffled out of bed and over to the steps leading down into the living room area, and as he approached the couch, he couldn't help smiling.

The sight of Brian's little boy - lying sideways on the couch with his head in Brian's lap and Brian's left hand resting on top of the light brown mop of hair as he, too, slept - made Justin rush to find a sketchbook. As he sat there silently across from them in one of the matching leather chairs, drawing what he observed - the moonlight flowing in through the large, tall windows and providing him with just the light he needed - he couldn't help thinking what a fortunate man he was to have both of them in his life.


	5. The Best Therapy of All

Brian's therapy comes to an end. Or does it?

* * *

 _Four Weeks Later...Wellness Therapy Center_

Justin glanced up as his partner pushed back from the curved work table - his brace, which had attracted enormous attention whenever he had appeared for his weekly appointments - now back home, his surgeon having given him the green light to no longer wear it, since the stitches had been removed and the two surgical incisions - one for a repair of the fractured distal radius bone, and the other for a carpal tunnel release to accommodate the ten screws and metal plate he now had embedded in his forearm - healing as expected. He noticed in amusement that Brian was carrying a small container of Playdoh in his hand, bright orange in color.

"Before you make any sarcastic comments, it's for my home therapy," he explained before Justin could even ask. "I'm supposed to squeeze it three times a day for ten minutes to help improve my grip strength." He smirked. "But I won't really need it; I was just humoring Sydney. I'll give it to Gus the next time he comes over."

Justin frowned as he picked up his sketchpad and graphite pencil lying next to him on an empty chair and rose to stand; this was Brian's final therapy visit to Sydney, which suited him just fine. The man seemed to take way too much pleasure in 'massaging' his partner's scar every time he came for his appointment. Also, the man used enough lotion to cover Brian's entire body, in his opinion, and took his sweet time taking care of him. "Why is _that_? If you think I'm going to let you get out of continuing your exercise just because you no longer have to come to therapy, think again, Mister."

Brian rolled his lips under at the stern look on his lover's face. "Oh, it's not that. I fully intend on continuing my exercises at home, don't worry; I just asked him if I could squeeze some _other_ pliable object to achieve the same result, and he said yes. He didn't ask me what I had in mind...but I don't think he _had_ to," he explained as Justin blushed a deep red.

"You fucking asked him that, Brian?" he hissed in a soft voice, trying not to be overheard. By the amused look on the desk clerk's face nearby, however, he had a suspicion she had heard it anyway. "You're unbelievable."

His lover shrugged. "You already knew that," he replied with a grin. "You didn't have to even come this past week, you know. I'm allowed to drive."

"I know," Justin responded softly. "I wanted to come...after all, it was me who got you into this mess in the first place."

"Oh, you'll come, trust me. Just as soon as I can get you back home, little boy," he whispered in Justin's ear, making him shiver in anticipation. They still had to be careful when Brian was on top, but fortunately, his elbow hadn't suffered any injury in the fall, so he was able to help brace himself that way when they had sex. And, of course, Justin was always willing to ride him...and he knew just the right angles to make HIM come, too...hard and long.

Brian chuckled as Justin gave him a long-suffering look. "I _do_ kind of feel my hand stiffening up already. I really think I should work on my grip strength as soon as we get home. We can start in the shower with a little moist heat, and go from there...and the surgeon said to make sure I massage my scar frequently with lotion. But not with that cheap shit they use HERE." He scowled. "The last thing I want is for this fucking scar to show."

Justin snorted at the vain pronouncement as the two of them headed toward the entrance doors to leave. "Oh, we couldn't have that," he agreed. "A massage, huh?"

Brian nodded solemnly, his lips rolled under.

Justin's eyes twinkled. "Hmm...Is it just your wrist that's stiff?"

Brian grinned as he took the bait. "No, as a matter of fact, I'm kind of stiff all over now." He stretched his back as he added, "It must have been from sitting in that damn plastic chair too long during therapy. I think I might need a _full_ -body massage, actually." He held out his hand palm up toward Justin as the blond reached in his pocket to retrieve the keys to Brian's car. "You think you can handle being my home therapist? Or should I give Sydney a call to see if he might be willing to conduct private sessions?"

Justin walked around to open the side door and slide into the passenger seat; after driving for so many weeks, it actually felt weird to not be behind the steering wheel. He waited until Brian was sitting beside him before he replied in a clipped tone of voice, "I don't think we'll be needing Sydwell's services any longer. I can handle 'your stiffness problem' just fine."

Brian grinned as he started the car. It felt good to finally be able to grip the steering wheel with his right hand. He turned to peer over at Justin. "Syd-NEE," he pronounced helpfully as Justin raised his eyebrows at him innocently. "And you know damn well what his name is."

"Yeah, yeah...whatever. But just think," Justin replied, "now when you go through security at the airport, your magnetic personality will REALLY show up." The screws and titanium plate would be permanent fixtures from now on inside Brian's forearm.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, Einstein. But the doc told me it won't set off any alarms. Although...if the TSA agent was hot enough, I might not mind him copping a feel now and then just to get a cheap thrill out of it."

"For you or him?" Justin challenged.

Just before Brian started the car and pulled out of the parking spot, he smirked. "You have to ask?"

Justin merely grinned as he sank into the luxurious leather seat of the sports car and let Brian lead them back to the loft.

* * *

 _One Hour Later..._

"Damn it!"

"Brian, give me the jar."

"No. I can do this," Brian stubbornly maintained, as he grasped the almond butter jar with his left hand and resumed twisting the cap with his right to try and open it. But it wouldn't budge.

"Quit being so fucking stubborn, and hand me the jar!" Brian glared at him for several seconds before he reluctantly did as he was asked. He snickered at Justin when he couldn't open it, either, but then he watched as his partner walked over to the silverware drawer and retrieved a standard knife with a large, flat handle.

"What in the hell are you doing? Auditioning for Talent Night at Woody's? How about playing spoons instead?" he suggested, as Justin used the handle end of the knife to bang it repeatedly against the rim of the jar. "Hey! That's my good silverware!"

Justin ignored him as he finished his task and laid the knife down on the counter. This time, when he turned the lid of the jar, it twisted open easily. He smiled at Brian in triumph. "Works every time. Not sure why...but it does. Little trick my mom taught me once." He handed the jar to Brian with a smug grin. "You need help slicing the banana, too?" he asked politely.

Brian huffed as he picked up the jar of almond butter, along with the knife, and took the lid off to begin spreading some of it onto his toast. "No, it'll be tough cutting through it, but I think I can manage," he retorted sarcastically. Justin leaned against the kitchen island as he watched his partner pull apart the banana peel, slice the fruit, and layer it on top of the spread. Giving Justin a smug look of his own, he took a bite of his toast before picking up his coffee mug and taking a sip. "See? No problem."

Justin had to chuckle, causing Brian to reluctantly smile sheepishly back at him, both of them knowing his hand would not be back to full strength for some time. But he was making a lot of progress.

"I don't know...you obviously still need to work on that grip strength."

"Well, that's where YOU come in, remember?" Brian told him. "Or where you just come."

Justin laughed. "Ha, ha. Don't worry; we'll work on that later today." He reached over to grab Brian's knife to slather a generous amount of cream cheese on the bagel he had just toasted. "By the way, I forgot. When you were in therapy earlier, you got a call from Gus." Justin had been holding onto his cellphone out in the waiting room.

Brian's face broke out into a delighted smile. "I did?"

Justin nodded.

"What did he want?"

"Well...he wanted to know if he could bring you to school for show-and-tell."

Brian's mouth hung open. "They still _do_ that sort of thing?" He inquired, trying to look nonchalant, but inside he was glowing with pride. "He wants me to come to his school to talk about my job? Well, I guess I could bring the laptop and show them the CGI program, and maybe some storyboards. And maybe show them some of the TV commercials we've created." Brian noticed Justin trying to hold back a smile. "What?"

"It's not about your job exactly," he explained.

Brian frowned in surprise. "Well, then, what? He wants me to model the latest Armani collection? You and I BOTH know those two lesbians have no fashion sense at all when it comes to my son." He wrinkled his nose. He would have to teach his son proper attire as soon as he got a little older, before he wound up being some child model for the latest line from the Big Q.

Justin shook his head, pausing before he explained, "He wants you to come to his class so he can show them your cast."

Brian peered over at him, aghast. "My cast!? No fucking way!" he told him indignantly. He was actually hurt that his Sonny Boy wanted his cast to show off more than him. "If that's all he wants, then YOU take it to class - you're the artist!"

Sensing the real reason for his partner's harsh tone, Justin allayed his fears when he told him softly, "No, he wants YOU to wear it, Brian. He thinks your cast is awesome (one of Gus's favorite words at the moment), but he wants you to wear it. He thinks his daddy is 'cool' (another favorite word presently) for agreeing to wear it in the first place. And _I_ think his daddy is pretty damn awesome, too."

Brian studied him. "Are you making that up?"

Justin rolled his eyes as he scratched his forearm; it was a nervous habit of his. "No, I did NOT make it up. Brian, that kid adores you! He wants to not only show your cast off, but his Daddy, too, trust me."

"You're not just saying that to stroke my ego?"

Justin laughed. "You hardly need your ego stroked. It's as healthy as a horse."

Brian smirked. "No argument there. Well, how about coming over and stroking something else, Sunshine? Remember what we talked about earlier?"

"Of course. Something about a whole body massage. I can see it now...all that expensive stuff you buy on my hands as I straddle you, making them nice and slick as I rub them together and then slide them all over your body...your chest, your shoulders, your wrist, of course. Your long legs, your feet, your toes, and then I'd have you turn over to work on your shoulders. Let's see...did I forget anything?"

Justin laughed as Brian suddenly grabbed him by the wrist - his grip surprisingly strong, even now - and tugged him toward the bedroom. "Brian, we just came from there," he reminded him, the two of them enjoying a leisurely shower together, where they had gotten clean, then dirty, and then clean again. He managed to shove one half of his bagel into his mouth, holding it between his teeth, while he was being led back to their bed. After all, he had his priorities, and he hated cold bagels.

"And we're going to come again, you little shit. If you weren't teasing me all the time, this wouldn't happen! Fuck, you make me so damn horny!"

Justin feigned innocence as he was pulled up the steps to the raised platform, and then was pushed toward the bed, Brian giving him a shove with his left hand so he fell onto the bed, giving a little bounce before Brian pounced on him, draping his body over his lover's as he braced himself on his elbows on either side of the slim body. His right hand was still somewhat touchy whenever he bent his wrist at an angle, but all the pain had pretty much disappeared by now. He stopped long enough to gaze into Justin's eyes that were full of mischief, but also obvious love for him, and his breath caught in his throat.

Justin frowned as he pulled the bagel half out of his mouth and placed it on the nightstand, concerned by the change in demeanor. "Brian? You okay?"

He was given a half-smile as Brian nodded. "I'm fine. I was just thinking. Thinking how..." he paused, feeling a little awkward. It always made him feel that way for some reason.

Justin sighed. "...how you got into this mess in the first place? I promise; no more changing lightbulbs for you, or climbing ladders for either of us. We'll order takeout next time until I can get the maintenance man to come and fix it."

But Brian shook his head as he explained, "No...I mean, I am certainly NOT climbing any more ladders...after all, I've already climbed the ladder of success," he joked. "That's the only one _I'm_ interested in." Justin rolled his eyes at the cocky statement. Brian's expression turned tender as he reached to gently brush away some errant hair from the blond's forehead, making Justin hold his breath merely by the look in his eyes. "I was just thinking how...shit!" He muttered, stopping for a moment to steel himself before adding, "how fucking amazing you are. You didn't have to go with me to all those appointments, or keep track of my meds, or watch over me while I was being such a prick of a patient. But you did anyway." He harrumphed. "I'm convinced you were either a drill sergeant in a previous lifetime...or a prison warden. A little on the short side...but one nonetheless. But when you think about it, even Napoleon was a strong leader, and he was shorter than YOU."

"Hey! I'm NOT short!" Justin protested indignantly as Brian chuckled. "You're just...overly tall." His eyes widened as a realization hit him. "Wait! Did you really mean that? You know, about...?" Just the knowledge that Brian had expressed such a sentiment out loud made his heart flutter.

"Yeah, flattery seeker. I meant it. And you're pretty hot, too." Leaning in, Brian brushed his lips against Justin's before deepening the kiss, Justin's hand sliding around Brian's back to pull him closer, while still being careful not to hurt his arm. Slowly pulling back several seconds later, Brian flopped onto his back. "Now...about that stiffness..." His eyes traveled lower down his body. "You can start down... _there._ "

Justin grinned before getting to work on providing his 'own' form of therapy treatment.


	6. Show and Tell - Conclusion

_Conclusion. Gus gets his wish when his father comes to show and tell with his cast. Some surprises occur along the way._

* * *

 _Wexner Primary School - One Week Later - Morning_

"Didn't you have some finger painting or sandcastle sculpting to do back home? Some nails to trim? Bushes to beat?"

Justin beamed, clearly enjoying himself as he shook his head. "Nope. Nothing more important than this."

Gus peered up at the two men, his little hand clutched in his father's, as he chirped, "I make castles, too, Justin! But I always have to use a bucket to throw lots and lots of water on top of my sandbox, or the sand doesn't stick together. You want to come over sometime and make some with me? I've got finger paints, too!" He frowned. "Can you paint sand castles?"

Justin laughed. "Well, probably not the kind you're talking about. But I would love to be your sandbox companion anytime...and your finger-painting buddy."

"Compan-yen?"

Justin grinned. "Companion," he enunciated slowly. "It's another word for friend," he told him affectionately as he reached down to ruffle the little boy's hair. The older Gus became, the more he reminded him of Brian. Even his hair had somehow changed to more of an auburn color, rather than all brown. And his hair was just as soft as Brian's...he removed his hand slowly and cleared his throat, suddenly conjuring up images of him and Brian that was not appropriate at the moment. He glanced over at Brian, who smirked back at him, and he had to roll his eyes at him as he felt his cheeks warm. It always amazed him how Brian seemed to pick up on precisely what he was thinking.

"Well, you're _already_ my friend, Justin. Aren't you?"

Thankfully brought out of his reverie, Justin turned his attention back to Gus, smiling warmly down at him as he assured him, "Yes, of course I am."

Gus nodded, satisfied. "Good. And com...panyons..." he struggled to say the word, "...like to play together." He paused for just a few seconds before unexpectedly asking, "Do you like mud?", squinting his eyes against the bright sunlight in the blue, cloudless sky.

Justin laughed as they continued to walk toward the entrance of the school. "Mud?"

Gus nodded vigorously.

"Well, I guess I've never thought about it. But I suppose it has its uses. Why do you ask?"

"Because when you come over to make sand castles with me, we can make some mud pies, too."

"Oh, joy," Brian deadpanned as Justin gave him a pointed look.

"You want to come, too, Daddy?" Gus piped up.

"Oh, I want to come all the time, Sonny Boy," he reassured his son as he grinned over at Justin, obtaining the blush he expected he would get as he smugly smiled back at him. "But your father has to work a lot right now."

Gus sighed. "I know...But I miss you, Daddy." His eyes peered up at him, full of both love but with a touch of wistfulness.

 _Shit_. Brian felt like an ass right then. He was having to work some ungodly hours - even more than he normally did - to try and make up for some lost ground while he had been incapacitated. He had eventually been able to do some work from home, but the catching up had cut into his weekly visits with his son. "I know," Brian acknowledged as he continued to hold onto his son's little hand. "I've missed you, too, Gus. A lot," he admitted softly. He took a deep breath. "But you know what?"

Gus shook his head as they neared the entrance doors.

"Your Daddy is almost caught up with what he had to get done because of breaking his arm, so he will be able to see you a lot more now. In fact, why don't we ask your mommies if I can pick you up on Friday next weekend? I'll leave work a little early that day, and we can go to the baseball game. Would you like that?"

Gus's eyes lit up as he jiggled excitedly up and down. "Yeah! Can we eat hot dogs, too? And nachos with cheese? And we have to get lots of peanuts, too."

Brian frowned, temporarily forgetting the horrendous food choices Gus was requesting - and what sort of artificial ingredients went into them. "I didn't think you liked peanuts."

"I don't," Gus verified as Justin reached for the handle to swing the school's door open. "But YOU can eat them. I just like to throw the shells on the ground."

Both men had to laugh at that comment as Gus added, "Justin's coming, too, isn't he?" Brian looked over at his partner before nodding, receiving a smile in confirmation.

Justin couldn't keep a smile off his own face at the thought. He loved being included in their father-and-son activities. He had been there from the moment Gus had been born, and he had grown into an intelligent, thoughtful, if not precocious child. At Gus's age, also, there was no such thing as being 'politically correct.' Thanks to all three parents, he had been taught good manners. But he said whatever was on his mind; things that oftentimes others were thinking silently, but wouldn't say. Thankfully, Gus was also a kind child, so he seldom said anything that was hurtful, and he didn't look at others who were 'different' as inferior. It was one of the things he loved the most about Gus. And he _did_ love him. Not in the same way, of course, as he loved Brian, but just as deeply.

"I would love to come...whenever I can," he told Gus before he looked over at Brian with a twinkle in his eye.

 _Touché, Sunshine,_ Brian responded with a smile. "Don't worry, Sunshine; I'll make sure that you do."

* * *

As they entered the private school, Gus instantly became their tour guide. "This way," he told the two men authoritatedly, leading his father and Justin to the hallway that ran off the right-hand side of the lobby. There were children of every size and shape bustling around them in their school uniforms as they made their way to Gus's homeroom, reminding Brian of a hive of bees buzzing to and fro. He was bumped occasionally by one of them as they animately yammered with their friends, their backpacks jostling him as they scurried to their rooms.

After three or four doors, Gus stopped. "This is it," he told them, his eyes lighting up as he entered the room, a reluctant Brian following along behind him. He hadn't really given his brace much thought until now, but all of a sudden he felt a bit ridiculous wearing a psychedelic contraption that looked like it had come straight out of the Haight-Ashbury section of San Francisco - or a relic from Woodstock. The garishness of the artwork contrasted starkly with his charcoal-colored business suit, complemented by a lavender shirt, and a deep purple tie. Only someone with Brian's panache could carry off such a ensemble, but on him - as with everything else he so meticulously chose to wear for professional purposes - it looked perfect on him. He would be heading into work after Gus's first period class was over, dropping Justin off at the diner, since his partner had promised Debbie he would fill in for a few hours due to an employee's illness.

"Hello, there, Gus!" A tall, dark-haired man who appeared to be around Justin's age greeted him enthusiastically as the other children took their seats, some carrying shoeboxes or the item they wanted to show clutched in their hands. "I see you brought your father with you." He walked a few steps over to extend his hand outward toward Brian. "Even without the brace, I would know who you are. Your son looks so much like you," he commented with a polite smile. "I'm Ian Mockbee, Gus's teacher," the man introduced himself, a distinctive Irish lilt to his rich-sounding voice.

Brian began to extend his right hand - until the man's first name caught up with his brain. _What the fuck?_ Even though he knew it was irrational, it made him wary. But he wasn't the best advertising genius in the state for nothing; he knew how to put his game face on. So with as genuine-looking a smile as he could muster, he reached to shake the other man's hand - until he realized he had his brace on that hand, and couldn't do it. He had wanted to just carry the damn thing in, but his son had insisted it wouldn't be the same. So he awkwardly stuck his left hand out, instead, to briefly shake the other man's hand. Unlike the 'other' Ian, this man was hot...and the flicker of appreciation he was receiving made his gaydar ping. "Brian Kinney," he told him, as the man nodded.

The teacher then looked over at Justin curiously as he smiled warmly at him, his eyes lingering a bit more on his partner - or so Brian thought, anyway. "And you are?"

"I'm Justin Taylor," he told him, not quite sure how to explain his complex, complicated relationship with Gus's father. He, too, had been taken aback when the man had mentioned his first name, inwardly groaning. Gus had never mentioned his teacher's first name. But something told him that the man already had figured his and Brian's connection out; he hadn't been around Brian for as long as he had not to pick up on some of his methods for determining if someone was gay, and the way this man seemed to be eating him up with his eyes was a clear indication. He deliberately broke off their gaze as Brian bestowed a territorial death glare on the other man, Justin's face flushing as he turned to peer around at all the children's artwork that was hanging up with thumbtacks to a corkboard-like strip that ran along the length of three walls. "That's great, the way you have all the children's artwork displayed around the room," he told the man, smiling when he recognized Gus's nearby. "That's yours over there, isn't it?" he asked the child. He could see a watercolor drawing of a rainbow with a child and two larger figures with him. Gus beamed at him proudly and nodded. Justin hadn't seen the picture before, but Gus was constantly drawing similar ones in his presence, and he could see the child's large-lettered scrawl of his name, 'GUS,' written in the lower right-hand corner...the same place that he always signs his own works after he is done painting. He had felt flattered when Gus had explained to him during one of their painting sessions that he did it because he wanted to be a 'great artist' just like he was.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Taylor," the teacher told him, also shaking his hand. The man held onto Justin's hand just a little longer than necessary before he finally let go of it, noticing a flicker of displeasure on the face of his student's father. The teacher cleared his throat, then, turning his attention back to his young pupil. "Well, Gus, if you and your father and Mr. Taylor will take a seat, we'll be getting started soon. Why don't they sit right behind your desk, since there're two empty seats there?" he suggested.

Gus nodded happily, once more reaching out to grab his father's uninjured hand as he began to pull him toward the first aisle on the left between two rows of desks. "Come on, Daddy, Justin. We're sitting over here."

Gus slowly ambled toward his seat, taking time to introduce his father and Justin several times to other schoolmates, before he slid his backpack off to drop it on the ground, next to his seat. Sliding into it, he peered up at his father to instruct him, "Sit down, Daddy. You, too, Justin. Mr. Mockbee always calls on us in order of our first names for show and tell, so I won't get to show you off for a little while yet."

Brian looked aghast at the old-fashioned, midget-sized desk that was attached to a chair. "Fu..." he started to say, before he caught himself. He looked over helplessly at Justin, who gave him a stern, ' _don't mess this up'_ look, before he sighed. Fortunately, he was slim enough that he was just able to finally slide into his seat, but with his long legs he was forced to hang them straight out in front of him in order to fit. He shook his head in disgust as he peered over at Justin in challenge, one eyebrow lifted. He waved a hand at him in a 'have a seat' manner as Justin realized he, too, would have to sit in the same configuration. "Well, you heard my son. Sit down, Mr. Taylor," Brian drawled with a smirk as Justin glared at him. He chuckled amidst the sounds of several children still speaking in the room before class time officially began.

Justin looked skeptically at his seat for at least the next several seconds before he contorted his body enough to slide under the desk part and took his seat, finding his ass more than filling out the hard, plastic surface as part of it hung over the edges. Brian's, on the other hand, naturally fit without any problem. _Well, scrawny ass, gloat all you want. At least I don't have to get up in the front of the class as an exhibit, and I can fold MY legs,_ he couldn't help thinking as Brian rolled his lips under in amusement over his partner's expression of discomfort.

 _Bubble butt_ , he mouthed to Justin, who rolled his eyes.

Both of them looked up at the front of the class as the teacher picked up an old-fashioned bell with a wooden handle and rang it to get everyone's attention. "Good Morning, class," the teacher greeted them, as the students dutifully repeated the same greeting to him. "I can tell everyone is excited today about show and tell, so why don't we get started? Abbie? Would you like to start us off?" A little girl with long, brown hair nodded from across the room as she stood up with a stuffed giraffe in her hand and walked to the front of the class to explain she had obtained her beloved item on a trip to the zoo, and how it was her favorite animal 'in the whole world.' Once she was finished, the teacher nodded approvingly while the other children politely clapped, and the process was repeated several times.

After several minutes, Brian leaned over to Justin to mutter under his breath, "How many children ARE there in this class that start with the letter C? Two dozen?" They had started with Caitlyn, then Caroline, then Carlos, Cassidy, Celia, Chad, Charleen, and then Charlie. Now a boy named Christian was up at the front of the class, extolling the joys of building model airplanes.

Justin shrugged, squirming in his seat. His back was killing him now, but he wasn't about to tell Brian that. He knew Brian had to be feeling the same sort of pain, but he also knew the man wouldn't let him know that. Both of them sighed in relief when the next one called up was "David." They figured there would be a few 'D's,' but not a lot of 'E's' and 'F's.

Finally, after Gary, Gerri, and Greg had their turns, Gus's name was called. Beaming widely as everyone's eyes fell upon him, he slid handily from his seat and turned to peer down at his father, who was struggling to get back out of his chair. "Do you need help, Daddy?" he asked as Justin snickered.

Giving Justin a pointed look, he shook his head. "No, Sonny Boy, just give me a minute to wake my feet back up," he told him, stomping them on the floor a couple of times to get some blood flowing into them again as they tingled. Grunting as he struggled to rise, he almost fell out of his seat before he managed to hold onto the edge of the desk and shakily stant. He stiffly started to accompany his son up to the front of the class before Gus spoke up. "Justin, too," he unexpectedly stated.

Brian's eyes rose with surprise, but he peered over at Justin expectantly. Justin frowned. He figured he would just suffer in his seat until they were done, and then somehow manage to escape from his confinement and leave immediately after they were done. But apparently, Gus had other plans. "Gus, it's okay. I'll just stay here until you're done," he hastily told him.

But the little boy was adamant. "No, Justin," he replied with a firm shake of his head. "You have to come, too."

"Coming is very important, Sunshine," Brian agreed with a grin. "Upsy Daisy." He obligingly held his good hand out toward him as he added, "Let's see how fast YOU get out of YOUR seat."

Wincing at the thought as all eyes were now cast upon him, he nodded in resignation as he, too, slid toward the aisle to reach for Brian's hand...only to promptly fall on his ass to the delight of all the kids in the room, who broke out in spontaneous laughter, including Gus, who giggled along with the others.

Even Brian chuckled as he helped his embarrassed partner to his feet. He whispered in his ear, "At least you had a good cushion to land on." Justin snorted before Brian placed his right hand on his shoulder to gently prod him toward the front of the room ahead of him.

Once the three of them were facing the class, the teacher nodded. "Okay, Gus...show us what you brought today...or should I say who you brought, too?" he asked for the benefit of the class.

Gus smiled as he stood between Brian and Justin as he motioned with a wave of his hand. "This is my Daddy. He broke his arm when he fell off a ladder, and he had to have a doctor fix it. He's got a lot of screws and a plate inside his arm!" The students gasped in awe as he continued. "And he got to wear this cool brace! See!" he told the others, as he grabbed his father's arm and held it up like a prize at the local fair. "Daddy, let them see it," Gus pleaded with his father. "It comes off," Gus explained to his schoolmates, who seemed enraptured with the contraption.

Brian grimaced, but did as he was asked, pulling on the Velcro straps to loosen the brace and remove it. As soon as he grasped it in his left hand, his son promptly grabbed it away from him so he could hold it up in front of the class. "Isn't it neat?" he asked, as the other students nodded in agreement over the colorful object. "And no one else has another one just like it, cause my other Daddy, Justin, drew it for me," Gus commented as he gazed up at Justin in adoration. "He draws pretty things," he told them. "And he helps me draw pretty things, too. Can I pass it around?" The teacher nodded his agreement as Gus walked over to the first student's desk to hand it to him. Satisfied that his treasured item was safe, but keeping a close eye on it to make sure he received it back eventually, Gus walked back over to his father and Justin, this time reaching to clasp both their hands in his smaller ones.

Gus had never referred to Justin before as "Daddy," even though they had always been close. Brian smiled as he held his son's hand, while Justin promptly teared up, hurriedly wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his other hand before the tears could fall.

Gus frowned as he noticed the misty eyes. "Justin, are you okay?" he asked as the students took turns examining the artist's latest piece.

Justin smiled at him through his tears as he struggled to speak. "Yeah, I'm fine, buddy," he reassured him in a choked-up voice.

"Then why are you crying?" Gus asked curiously as he peered up at him in concern.

Sensing his sentimental partner was having difficulty speaking, Brian interjected, "Don't worry, Gus. They're happy tears. I'll explain it to you later." Gus nodded then, satisfied that he hadn't done anything wrong, or that Justin wasn't feeling okay.

By then, the brace had wound its way back up to the front of the room. The teacher walked over to retrieve it and hand it to Gus, casting a wistful, if not disappointed, glance at Justin, since he was now convinced that even if he _wanted_ to entertain the notion of getting to know the beautiful, blond man who had accompanied his student and the student's father to class, he would be wasting his time. "Thank you for bringing your item to class," he told Gus, who nodded as he happily accepted the brace from him, clutching it to his chest as if it were a horde of gold. To him, it was worth much more than that. "Can I keep it with me today, Daddy?" he asked Brian, knowing his father and Justin would have to leave now.

Brian smiled as he reached down to affectionately tousle his son's soft hair. "Sure you can, Sonny Boy. Just take good care of it, okay?" He looked over at Justin as he added, "We wouldn't want anything to happen to something that your other Daddy painted, would we?" Justin blinked at that and had to wipe his eyes again with his sleeve before sniffling.

Gus nodded vigorously as he continued to hold on tight to his unique 'treasure.' "I'll watch it all day long," he promised. "Even at lunch and recess."

Brian nodded back at him, then, as he leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. "Okay, then your two Daddies have to go now. We'll see you later, okay?" He had promised to take Gus and Justin out for pizza later; at least at Luigi's his they could get pizza, while he could order something healthier due to their extensive menu options.

Gus nodded back at him with an eager smile, anticipating his treat later. "Okay!" he chirped. "Bye, Daddy! Bye, Justin!" he called out to them as he skipped back to his seat.

The teacher looked at them, this time his previous admiring glance toward Justin replaced with a more professional one as he told them, "Thank you both for coming. Gus is a delight to have in class, by the way."

Both men nodded at him as Brian replied, "I'm not surprised," before the two of them walked out of the room, but not before giving Gus a goodbye wave as the little boy cheerfully waved back, the brace sitting on top of his desk in clear sight where he could carefully watch over it.

* * *

A few minutes later, the two men were seated in Brian's car, heading back toward the main road. Brian glanced over at his partner, who had been inexplicably silent ever since they had bade his son goodbye. Normally Justin couldn't go more than a few minutes without commenting on something; and even when any type of music was playing in the background, when he wasn't talking, he was humming or singing. Brian grinned; _the boy certainly has talented lips,_ he couldn't help thinking. But, still...this was unusual. Unusual, but he could guess the reason.

Before he could verify his theory, however, Justin finally spoke up as they stopped at a red light. "Brian?"

"Yeah?" he replied, his eyes darting slightly back and forth between Justin and the light.

"Did you hear Gus?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

"Are we talking about my son, Gus? Did I hear him? Who couldn't? When that kid gets excited, he could replace the speaker system at the ballfield." He paused for a couple of seconds before asking, "You mean when he introduced us to his class...Daddy?"

Justin opened his mouth, only to close it as he nodded, trying to compose himself. He hadn't figured on that simple, little word having such a profound effect on him.

Brian grinned before noticing the light turning red, stepping on the gas pedal as he threaded his way through the morning traffic. "That's the first time he's ever called you that."

Justin bit his lip, his heart thumping as he thought about it; even now, it made him feel warm inside; loved. Well, he knew what love was - and with Brian, what it was like to BE loved, even though his partner wasn't very open about that, at least not verbally - but this kind of love was new to him. He had never thought too seriously about becoming a father, but... "Yeah, it was," he finally replied, his voice full of wonder and emotion. "I didn't see that coming at all." A sudden thought occurred to him as he turned to peer over at Brian. "You're not upset about that, are you? I mean, him saying he has two daddies?"

Brian paused for a moment, making Justin a little apprehensive, before he stated simply, "Justin, I think Gus has _always_ considered you a daddy. He just never thought to say it out loud before. But trust me; that kid fucking adores you." He snorted. "You WOULD be the member of the family with the artistic talent. Gus practically started finger painting from the day he came out of the womb. Except he started with food first, instead of paint. I can definitely say he didn't get that from me. Maybe Lindsay, I guess. But you've been the one who has nurtured it the most."

Justin laughed. "I remember that chocolate cupcake he tore apart during his birthday party a year ago. He had more icing on his face than in his stomach."

Brian turned at the next stop toward the Liberty Diner as he replied, "And don't forget the spaghetti. Talk about a bowl cut." When Gus had been younger, he had managed somehow to dump an entire bowl of spaghetti with meat sauce over his head while Brian had his back turned to retrieve a sippy cup for him. He had heard giggling coming from his son, prompting him to turn back around and observe sauce running down the boy's face, along with a few strands of the spaghetti. Needless to say, a bath was in prompt order after that. Thank God the meal by then was lukewarm, and hadn't hurt him. In fact, Gus thought it was hysterical. But it taught him a major lesson to never turn his back again on his son, even though he still found ways to make big messes.

"Maybe your son will create a new type of art: food art. You know, they DO pay people to arrange food in a certain way to make it look attractive on a menu, for example."

Brian huffed. "Yeah, and it never looks like that in real life." But he of all people knew how important a visual response was to a product; it could make all the difference between a good product, and a _great_ product. He sighed. "I wonder what his teen years will be like." As they pulled up to the Liberty Diner then, he slowed down to come to a rest at the curb to let Justin out. "You'll just have to be strict with him...Dad."

Justin harrumphed at him before he smirked at Brian. "Well, I would be closer in age to him," he pointed out sensibly. "Damn. By the time he's a teenager, let's see...you'll be...really, really..."

"Just never mind," Brian hastily responded. "I'm sorry I brought the subject up."

Justin grinned at him as he moved to get out of the car, before he felt Brian gripping his wrist. He turned around, his brows lifted innocently. "Yes? Did I forget something?" He laughed as Brian promptly yanked on his arm to pull him closer, stealing a kiss that lasted a lot longer than both had thought it would, and leaving them both breathless.

"See you later," Brian told him as he reluctantly let go, watching as Justin slid out of the car and closed the passenger door. "And Justin?"

Justin rolled his eyes as he bent to peer through the open window of the passenger door. "Brian, I'm going to be late for my shift...what?"

"Show and tell at the loft starts tonight at seven. Sharp."

Justin grinned. He had no idea what Brian what sort of 'show and tell' he had in mind for him, but he knew one thing. He couldn't wait.


End file.
